


A Flame

by GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld



Series: I wish I was [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky tries to recover from Hydra, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld/pseuds/GirlInLoveWithTheWrongWorld
Summary: After months, you meet again.





	A Flame

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: Thank you all so much for reading, kudosing (is that even a word?!) and commenting! You have made me so, so happy!
> 
> Second: I am so sorry to have kept you waiting! Life has been..well, life I guess. But I promise you, the next part will be out in the next three days.
> 
> Third: If any of you wonder where the title for the series comes from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5nkmof2Kto8
> 
>  
> 
> And now, on with the story!

I wish I was a flame dancing in a candle  
Lighting up your living room, high on a mantle  
I could bring some romance without any scandal  
And then when you were done, you'd just put me out

Months pass. Your work in Madeleine's bakery is fulfilling and for the first time in a long time you don't dread getting up in the morning. Your commute is different,too. Gone are the faceless masses of the other commuters. Now, the train is almost empty except for those who also have to get up in the twilight of a not-quite morning. You like it, though. The feeling of calmness in the tranquility of sunrise. From the moment Madeleine had tasted your chocolate cake, a friendship had started to form. You like how seriously she takes baking, her quiet humming whenever she whisks the batter and how easy it is to talk to her. You don't believe in fate, never have, but you count yourself more than lucky for deciding to get off that train and wandering into her café. 

Today is a particular busy day. A mother had come in weeks earlier to order three dozen cupcakes for her son's birthday. While Madeleine is serving customers in the café, you are standing in the small but well-equipped kitchen preparing a chocolate cake. In the beginning, it had taken Madeleine a while to warm up to the idea to leave you alone with her beloved kitchen. “It's not because I don't trust you or your abilities. On the contrary,love. It's just... Well, you see, I'm not used to sharing my space in the kitchen. While my daughter was working here, she was serving while I took care of the actual baking. Strict division of boundaries. It's going to take a while getting used to it, is all.” You liked serving the costumers well enough but were desperate to loose yourself in mixing and whisking and frosting. After a while, Madeleine saw how much you wanted a place in the kitchen and so she relented. Strangely enough, she now enjoys her time taking orders and talking with costumers more than she thought possible. It is an ideal situation for both of you: her busily chuckling away, scribbling down orders, and you quietly baking in the back. Sometimes you think back to the stranger on the train. How kind his eyes had been and how truly awkward he seemed at making small talk. And while your panic attacks never truly vanished, the thought of him somewhere in the city helped you more than you cared to admit. You scolded yourself. Why would he think about you, a stranger he helped through a painful episode? But you couldn't help yourself. He had been kind and seemed to truly care for your well-being. Sometimes, if Madeleine had you go to the market to pick of fruit for the pies and muffins, you couldn't help but buy a few plums. 

“Oh dear, I just got a phone call from the man who ordered the chocolate cake. He's so busy that he cannot pick it up himself. Would you mind and bring it over when it's done?” You know that normally Madeleine would not agree to such an inquiry, especially on a busy day as this, but the man, Paul you think his name is, is a good friend of hers. So you smile and nod. “Just write down his address and pray that I'll find it.” She lets out a laugh and thanks you. Once the cake is frosted, you put on your winter coat and head out the door.

Months pass. Every day seems to go by quicker than the last and he does not know whether he should feel angry or be thankful; thankful for experiencing a feeling other than anxiety, angry because deep down he knows that it can't last. Won't last. Everything will come crashing down in the end. But gradually, slowly but steadily, he finds tranquility. He had to think about her words every time he closed his eyes. Her simple question why he did not do the things he enjoyed doing and his evasive reply that he did not have time threw him off-balance. Why did he have to ponder over such a plain inquiry? Why couldn't he just forget ever meeting her? Deep down, if he was being honest with himself, he knows the answer. Meeting her, helping her, talking to her even if it had only been for a couple of moments, had been one of the most precious memories he created after becoming himself again. She seemed genuinely curious; hell, even sad that he somehow didn't make time to work on cars, something he truly enjoyed before his life was taken from him – both from the war and later the war in his own mind. He of course couldn't tell her all that. She would have been terrified, even more than she already had been. 

But somewhere deep inside of his bones, her words haunted him and he began to experience life again. At first, panic attacks were his constant companion but he forced himself to breathe through them, to remind himself that she was somewhere out there, cheering him on. God, he was pathetic. Why would she think about a stranger she met on a train? She probably had better things to do. From the pictures in the box he assessed her to be well-loved by everyone. How he could see her light up the life of those around her simply by smiling. He knows his life is not as dark as it had been before. 

One day, he thought he saw her standing at a market stand he usually bought plums from, but she was gone in the swirl of people. That day, he didn't go back to the train station. Instead he wandered around town, wary of his surroundings. There had been children running from a yelling man; a couple holding hands while drinking coffee; an old man smoking a cigar. His world expanded all the sudden and how he wanted to belong, belong in this new old world in which so much had changed and yet not really. Sure, there were robots now which could talk and machines making coffee but people still loved and hated. 

His steps lead him through narrow alleys and shopping streets until they ultimately lead him to an industrial area. And there, in broad letters “Paul's Mechanics”. Now, he didn't believe in fate, never had, but he later thanked his luck for it. 

He is lying under an old car, trying to fix a broken tube when he hears the front door open. The foot steps are those of a woman. Old habits die hard and he is still wary of people, he always will be. But working with Paul and the others helps him to see his surroundings not as a constant reminder of his past but as a possible life he builds for himself. So when the door opens and he hears the footsteps of a woman, he briefly flinches after calming himself, knowing that the chance of her being their spy is under five percent. Her footsteps come to a stop right next to the car, he can feel her looking around. “Excuse me? I, uhm... are you Paul? I have your cake here...” 

He has never believed in fate and he is not going to start now but out of all the possibilities, he would have never expected to see her again.

You glance around the garage, trying to find someone, anyone who could resemble the ominous Paul. You are desperate to get back to Madeleine's, knowing it's going to be a late night finishing off the orders for tomorrow. The only option you see is calling out and hoping someone will answer when you see feet poking out from a car. Your steps are slow and deliberate; you don't want to startle the person working under a car. Softly, you ask “Excuse me?I, uhm... are you Paul? I have your cake here.” There is movement under the car and you hope to be on your way again soon when you hear a voice. “I'm not Paul,but uhm... give me a second and I'll get him for you.” 

You never believed in fate, disliked the notion of not being able to control your outside world but maybe, just maybe this is what fate could look like to someone who believes in it.

He curses himself for not coming up with a better reply. He curses himself for not knowing what to say period. And so, with a heavy heart, he resurfaces from the car and sees her shocked face. Why would she look as if she has just seen a ghost? There is no doubt in his mind that she does not remember him, which of course does not mean he has forgotten about her. But the look on her face tells him more than words could; after all, he was trained to assess targets at first glance. She recognises him and he is not sure if his heart races from anxiety or something else entirely.

It's him. Him. And he looks at you as if he wants to run away. Does that mean he remembers you? Or did you startle him and now he wants to rip off your head? Your own heart is racing now but your anxiety seems not to be the cause. The silence while he tries to get up is deafening and you try to fill it. “Thank you.” You take a step back to allow him some space and hear a mumbled no problem and then he's gone. 

He knows he has always been a coward. Between Steve and him, he has always been the coward. So when she thanks him and he turns away to get Paul, he knows his cowardice will always be a part of him. He is ninety percent sure she recognised him, that alone would have been enough for anyone but him to talk to her. But he is who he is and so he navigates through the garage in search of Paul.

You wait. And while you wait you curse yourself for thinking, hoping all these months that you would see him again. But in your fantasies, whether it was meeting him while buying plums or him stumbling into the bakery, he always recognised you. And now here you are, face to face with the real world and he does not recognise you. A pat on your shoulder jolts you from your quiet revery. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you!” This must be Paul.

The rest is a blur. Paul thanks you for delivering his cake and then you're on your way back. You did not see him hiding in the office after telling Paul about your presence. Or how he waits to hear the door opening and closing, knowing you're gone. Or how, after coming back to his apartment, he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, disgusted by what he sees. No, you don't see any of this. You walk away from the garage, tears forming in your eyes but you blink them away. When you come back to the bakery, you smile at Madeleine, pretending your heart wasn't breaking.


End file.
